


Blackened Trees

by thelilnan



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Metaphors, Purple Prose, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/pseuds/thelilnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Will and Hannibal escaped the FBI and are living together, committing murders in relative bliss.</p>
<p>I wanted to write in Will's purple prose for a bit and ended up with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackened Trees

The feeling of falling only lasted as long as I let it. I can see the path that led me here, trailing into the fog on either side. I see a beacon calling me. The darkness chases my tail. I cannot go back.

Nor do I want to.

It has been years since I have seen anyone from my old life. It didn’t take long to forget them. The lightness achieved in the lifted burden was more than they ever gave me in friendship and condemnation. Fill a ship with flood waters and the rats emerge to save themselves. I was not loved.

I am loved now.

No longer does my stomach churn in the act. I feel elation in the spill, like I have shoved every accomplishment down the throat of a childhood tormentor. I find him choking on my success, eyes bulging grotesquely, and I cram more of his own inadequacies inside of him. I twist the knife. I grip the throat. I pull the trigger and he’s gone, gone, gone away. Everyone is gone and I stand a victorious god in a crowning of pure crimson gold.

I am rewarded.

The blood is still dripping from my hands and knife as I am congratulated for my bounty. A small, frail part of me in a young woman’s whimper tells me I _should_ feel guilt. I should consider guilt. Guilt is foreign and dry in my mouth and soon replaced by praise sliding from his tongue to mine. I feel euphoria in spreading the mark to his immaculacy. I twist my fingers into the flesh of his arm like that of a child’s ankle, caught by seaweed and dragging down below the water’s surface. Nails bite my neck and I release him. My hands have woven into the cloth of his suit in a permanent stain. My mouth tastes like copper and my head is full of sun and smoke.

Hands skirt my body in reverence and disgust. My head, trapped in a way separate from my body, is forced to meet his eyes. He whispers more sweet thoughts and rubs them into my skin so I may reflect his ideas. I open my mouth and receive him again. I am drenched in warmth that creates a sigh deep within me where sighs cannot escape. I am in ecstasy as the blood becomes tacky on my skin.

Their names are fireflies inside my skull, illuminating in random paths for which I am to clumsy to chase. My feet pad against the softness and I reach, one by one, to those names, those sounds, those signifiers that meant so much. I feel colors stroke through my hands, limbs, into my lungs and I cannot breathe anymore. The darkness consumes the fireflies and I emerge, shaking, from whatever world I had been in.

Episodes are not this common.

The comfort of their soft warmth is not like his. I am shrouded by him against the world. I was enthroned by them. The difference is enough that he can smell it and he pushes himself, piece by piece, back inside my skull until I can sleep again.

I dream of a forest fire.


End file.
